In My Dreams - A Destiel Valentine's One shot
by DeadlyKittenKay
Summary: As Dean gets older, he starts to notice more than the aches and sore muscles after their hunting trips. Could he be honest about how he feels for his best friend or will he shrug it off like he's done for the last eight plus years?


The heavy metal door slammed shut as two weary, sore, and battle-worn hunters trudged their way down the winding staircase to the situation room of the bunker. The youngest of the two mumbled something about taking a shower and not waking up until his fortieth birthday, while the oldest waved him off and collapsed into a chair at the the illuminated map table.

Dean had been so exhausted from their previous hunt and a day straight of driving that he hardly registered his best friend, the angel, sitting across from him. In fact, his attention wasn't drawn to Castiel until the opened bottle of beer was set down next to his head, which was resting against the table.

Dean lifted his head, muttering a thanks as his hand flexed before wrapping itself around the cool amber glass. Dean sits up, his body protesting to the abuse it endured and he wonders if he has any cracked ribs this time.

"You're injured," the angel says. Dean chances a look at him. He's not wearing his usual ensemble of the ill fitting three piece suit and trench coat. Today he looks more casual in his black slacks and white shirt, the top three buttons left undone, showing the dip in his clavicle. The sleeves, also unbuttoned at the wrist, are rolled up to the bend of his elbow, exposing a part of flesh Dean can't recall ever seeing.

"I can heal you," Castiel says and Dean sees him move to press his hand against him.

"No, Cas. I'm fine, buddy. I just need to wash this hunt off me and sleep."

"Of course, Dean. Perhaps a hot bath will help the ache in your muscles."

The hunter scoffs at the idea of taking a bath, but bites back any remarks at the eye roll he gets from Castiel before the angel is pushing himself up onto his feet.

"I will run you a bath while you finish." His tone leaves no room for argument from the human. Not that Dean would put up much of a fight. As of late, Dean found himself wanting to make Castiel happy, anything that would keep the angel near and away from his own dangers. Dean had been noticing the little things that he always ignored or shrugged off. These were looks, lingering touches, the way their bodies would unconsciously move towards each other as if the other gave them comfort or strength. Dean had always tried to ignore it, brushing it off with an innuendo or joke, anything but admitting that he was attracted to the angel.

Or at least that's how it started, as an attraction. With Castiel, it wasn't the body Dean was attracted to. While yes, Castiel's vessel was a six foot male with five o'clock shadow, dark messy hair and blue eyes that had starred in the numerous fantasies and wet dreams Dean had It was the angel himself that Dean realized - shortly after losing Castiel when he tried to rid the Leviathans on his own - he did not want to live without. Castiel would say that it was their profound bond, created the moment Cas had gripped onto Dean and raised him from Hell that made Dean feel this way. Dean knew it for what it was. He'd seen it on the face of his father all those years ago after John Winchester had lost his wife to a fire created by a demon. Dean, who typically favored his mother, Mary, in looks, had seen a younger version of John in himself in the reflection of the rivers in purgatory while he looked for Castiel.

Only Dean wasn't ready to call it love then. He had an inkling that there was something there, something stronger than what you would feel for family. Hell, Dean would die for his little brother, anything to keep Sammy safe and happy. These feelings, specifically the feelings he had at the thought of Castiel leaving makes his heart seized up, his chest constrict and his limbs physically ache. Even little trips that Castiel would take to the local Gas-n-Sip, or his recent adventures of hunting with the King of Hell, were enough to send Dean into these spells and he knew his jealousy was starting to show.

After all, _he_ was the reason Castiel had been slowly falling from grace.

"Dean?" Castiel's voice and touch to his left shoulder snaps Dean out of his thoughts back to the Men of Letters bunker in Lebanon, Kansas.

"Hey ya, Cas."

"The water is ready." Dean nodded and slowly pulled himself out of the chair, taking care to stretch his arms above his head as his spine and shoulders popped loudly. It didn't escape his notice that Castiel's blue eyes were watching the way his shirt rose up as he stretched.

"Wanna join me?" Dean asks with a teasing smirk and wink.

Castiel huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes again, seeming more and more human with each passing day. "If you wish to have company, you know I'd be more than happy to oblige. But wouldn't this count as being in your 'personal space', Dean?" he asks, complete with finger quotes.

"It's an invitation, Cas," Dean says before heading to the wash room of the bunker.

When Dean enters the bathroom, the steam is thick and he can smell something flowery with a hint of sage - a smell he'll never forget as it tends to be a favorite of the witches he's hunted in the past. He almost wonders if Castiel was trying to put a spell on him with the sweet and savory scents wafting from the tub. Dean chuckles at himself before chucking off his clothes to the corner of the room and deciding to deal with the mess later as the hot pool of water starts to sing its siren's song to his aching muscles.

He sucks a breath in between his clenched teeth as his body adjusts to the water. The temperature is just a hair hotter than he normally likes for his showers, but as Dean sinks farther into the water, he can feel the heat working it's magic.

"I'm gonna smell like a freaking hippie. Or a witch!" Dean says to the empty room, convinced that Castiel is listening. Of course he was, as he uses that moment to appear, collecting the soiled clothes and placing them into the hamper.

"They're herbs to help your body, Dean." The angel explains. "The sweet scent is the meadowsweet to help your sore muscles. There's lavender to assist in calming your nerves as I know you tend to be, as you say, too jacked up to sleep after a hunt. And finally I added a touch of sage to help calm your mind and cleanse your spirit."

"Okay, so sage and lavender I know. You sure you're not a witch?" Dean jokes looking over at the angel who is standing off to the side, leaning against the wall with his shoulder.

"Just relax, Dean. I'll watch over you."

 _Of course you will_ , Dean thinks, leaning his head back against the lip of the claw footed tub and letting his body relax. That's all Castiel had done for the last eight years, watch over Dean. Even if it meant betraying his trust at times, Cas had always had the intention of protecting the Winchesters from the dangers of war between Heaven and Hell.

Dean should be freaked out that he is currently laying naked and exposed in front of his best friend. He should feel like he is on display but he doesn't. He's pretty sure it's the mixture of the therapeutic soak and the heat that is making him less inhibited than normal. All he knows is he just doesn't really care at this point.

He hadn't even realized that he had closed his eyes and drifted to a state of nothingness until he feels a gentle push at his shoulders.

"Sit up for a moment," Cas says softly. Dean does as he is asked, following the angel's instructions to tip his head back and close his eyes. Dean is surprised to hear the hum of pleasure from his own throat as the water is gently poured over his head, Castiel's long, slender fingers carding through his hair. Blunt finger nails gently scratching at his scalp.

"Are you uncomfortable, Dean?" Castiel asks as he continues to lavish attention to Dean's hair.

"Nuh uh."

"You know," Cas starts, gently pulling Dean back against the edge. "I always wondered what it was like to care for another like this." Dean hears the cap of the shampoo snap closed before he feels the gentle yet firm pressure of Castiel's fingers working the cleanser into his thick, light brown hair. "I mean, I had observed you do this for Sam when he was either too injured or sick to bathe himself."

"Jus' 'elpin' him," Dean slurs, leaning into Cas' touch.

"But you also do this for the ones you care for, do you not?"

Dean gives a small shrug. "Can be considered romantic, I su'pose."

Cas hums in understanding. He continues to work the lather into Dean's hair, giving the human the best head and neck massage he never knew existed.

Castiel works in silence. Dean's body serene and pliant, moving freely for Cas as he continues to bathe him, raining the water over his head to free him of the shampoo. Using the small square of cloth to patiently scrub the gore from Dean's hands and arms, rubbing circles into his back to loosen tight muscles. Dean's heart flutters every time Cas' hands brush over his shoulders and onto his pectoral muscles, but never dipping lower.

"I'm afraid it would be inappropriate for me to wash your front," Castiel says softly besides Dean's ear, making him shudder. "Perhaps you should take care of that before you get too chilled from the water," he suggests, misinterpreting Dean's shiver.

"Sounds good, Cas. Thanks, man."

"Any time, Dean."

Once Dean is done taking care of the rest of the washing, he dries off and dresses in a pair of boxer briefs and a tee shirt. Wrapping himself in his favorite dead man's robe, he pads his way to his room, where Castiel is currently standing in the middle of it looking down at his shirt. The white button down is nearly transparent where he must have gotten it wet when he was working on Dean.

"I got something for ya," Dean says moving to the dresser and pulling out a well loved shirt of his own.

"I'm afraid my pants are soiled as well," Cas says with a frown making Dean chuckle.

"Got ya covered, Cas." Dean pulls out a pair of flannel pants and hands both articles of clothing to the angel before turning his back and facing the bed.

Dean can hear the sound of fabric moving and being deposited to the floor. He squeezes his eyes tight, fighting against the urge to sneak a peek at Cas undressing. Instead he focuses on the junk on his bed. His gun and knife are on the foot of the bed, no doubt where Castiel had placed them for him. Using that as an excuse, Dean picks them up and places the blade in its spot on the dresser, smiling slightly at the sight of Castiel's own blade laying next to it.

" _What's it like? Being with a hunter?"_ The memory of asking Jesse and his partner during a hunt hits him hard, causing his eyes to flick to the mirror where he catches Castiel pulling Dean's shirt over his head.

"The pants are a bit big," Castiel says, his eyes meeting Dean's in the mirror. Dean's eyes move down to the problem in the reflection to see that Cas was not wrong. The black and blue flannel hang low on his hips, the drawstring hanging low enough that it could be considered and advertisement to what is undoubtedly hanging just behind the fabric.

"Come here," Dean says turning to face the angel. When Castiel approaches him, Dean tugs on the strings of the pants and tightens it a little. "Better?"

Castiel gives the waist a slight tug. Satisfied that his pants are secure, he smiles up at Dean. It's a small crooked thing, that brings up the right half of his mouth. Dean loves that smile, as well has his genuinely happy smile. The last time he had that though was when he was under Famine's spell.

"Much," Castiel says. "Thank you, Dean. I will get them, as well as your shirt, washed and returned to you tomorrow."

Dean takes a moment to let his eyes take in the rest of the outfit. His AC/DC shirt, which he's had for over ten years now, is well loved and hangs large and loosely on the angel's shoulder. Dean clears his throat and scrubs his hands over his face. Something about his best friend wearing _his_ clothes to bed, was awakening things in Dean that he didn't even feel when Lisa would do that.

 _That's because you didn't love Lisa, jerk._ A voice sounding an awful lot like his moose of a brother quips in Dean's head.

"So you gonna stay here for the night or go read in the library?" Dean asks, finally forcing himself to move, he lays his gun in the nightstand, pretending that he did not just notice the bottle of lube there.

"I can stay here until you have fallen asleep, if you would like."

Dean shrugs, pulling back the bedding and sliding under it. "Or you can do that comatose thing you do in here," he mumbles not intending for Castiel to hear him. Of course he does, if the head tilt and squint of eyes were any indication.

"You mean my meditation?" Castiel moves to the other side of the bed.

Dean shrugs again before fluffing up his pillow and shoving it behind his head. "All I know is sometimes you look like a coma patient." Dean grabs the second pillow and fluffs that one up as well. Apparently the lavender didn't do shit for his nerves because now he can't sit still. "It's a feather pillow," Dean says as Castiel watches him. Suddenly Dean's eyes widen as he realizes that he just told and angel - who once had wings but no longer does - that he sleeps on a bag full of feathers. "It's goose feathers though, not angel feathers."

What the fuck Winchester?!

Castiel laughs softly and moves to lay down next to Dean. "I will rest better knowing that there weren't any angels harmed for the comfort of your head," he deadpans.

It's Dean's turn to laugh at Cas' joke. "Alright there, Carlin," he teases as he reaches over his bed mate to shut off the bedside light, ignoring the feel of Castiel's chest under his.

"I could have done that, Dean."

Dean rolls his eyes and lays back. "Good night, Cas."

"Good night, Dean."

Dean's body feels as if it is on fire. The combination of his own desire and the neediness of Castiel's touch against his skin awakens every nerve ending within. Dean's mouth leaves a trail of wet skin as he kisses, nips and sucks along the smooth column of Cas' neck. Cas has one hand holding Dean's right bicep as the other grips the hunter's hip.

Dean rocks his hips into the angel's, gasping against the hollow of his throat as his movement is met by Cas. _Dear God_ , Dean's mind sings as the low moan of his name escapes Castiel's mouth.

"Eight years," Dean says, moving his mouth down Cas' chest. "I've waited eight fucking years to have you under me like this." He looks up to see blue eyes watching him, dark and heavy lidded with lust. Castiel has his bottom lip between his teeth, his chest heaving in anticipation of Dean's next move.

Dean lets his hand slide between Cas' firm thighs, cupping the angel through his briefs, palming the hardened muscle underneath.

"Dean," Castiel moans again. Dean leaves open mouth kisses along the waistband of Cas' pants, his free hand slipping one finger underneath.

"Dean," Castiel says more urgently.

"Tell me what you want, Cas."

"I…" Castiel trails off, watching Dean with wide eyes.

Dean pulls the fabric down, revealing the upper area of his pelvic area. "Do you want me to kiss lower?" he asked, sucking on the flesh.

"Dean!"

Suddenly the hunter is pressed under the angel, only now Cas has his shirt back on. Dean's eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"You wouldn't wake up when I called your name. I was worried because I could hear your heart race increase and you were-" Castiel stops mid sentence. His blue eyes widen from their concerned slits as he realizes what was happening. "Oh," he breaths.

Dean knows he can do this one of two ways. He could either play this off as if Dean was dreaming of some random chick and brush it off. Possibly go into the bedroom and jerk himself off. Or he can just say fuck it.

He's totally going with option two and before his brain has a chance to catch up, he has his arms around Castiel's shoulders, one hand on the back of the angel's neck, pulling him down to him. Castiel doesn't fight him in the slightest. In fact, if anything it's almost like he wants to kiss Dean as much as Dean wants to kiss him.

Somehow, their lips press together. It's awkward, their noses bump each other and Dean is about eighty percent sure, he bit his cheek. He slides his hands up to cup Castiel's face and pulls him away slightly.

"Come on, Cas," he teases, making sure Castiel's focus is on him in the dimly lit room. "Show me what the pizza man taught you."

Castiel surges forward, his mouth claiming Dean's as he rolls his hips against him. Dean's eyes flutter shut, a whimper escaping as Castiel's tongue glides along his lower lip. Dean opens up to him, letting the angel take control of their kiss as he slides his hands under soft cotton shirt. Dean calloused hands burn against Castiel's sides and lower back in the most pleasurable way.

Soon their kiss becomes more heated. Dean can feel the passion and desire coming from Castiel with each pass of their tongues against each other. Both men are rocking into each other, neither can deny how hard they are with the barely-there layers.

Castiel finally pulls up from Dean, sitting on his knees and leaning back against his heels between the human's bowed legs. Dean follows him, he's panting and watching Cas. There are silent questions in the angels eyes and Dean wants to soothe them all. To reassure him that it's okay. That _this_ is okay.

Dean pulls at his shirt from behind him, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side. Castiel's eyes follow the movement of Dean's hands as he did so, only to leave his gaze fixed on Dean's chest.

"Cas?" he asks softly, afraid to startle the angel.

"We can't," he starts and watches Dean's face fall before the mask is put securely in place. "I mean, tonight. We shouldn't do this. I want to."

Dean swallows the lump in his throat. "You do?"

"Can I be honest with you?" he asks, his eyes moving to Dean's.

"Of course, Cas."

"That time with Meg and April," he pauses and reaches out to cup Dean's face. His thumb brushing along Dean's full bottom lip.

"Cas?"

"I wished it was you. That it was you I was kissing." Castiel's hands move from Dean's face, down his shoulders then his arms and finally taking his hands into his. "That her hands were yours. That it was you in my arms in the post coital slumber."

"I'm right here, Cas."

Cas gave him a small smile. "Yeah, you are." Castiel let out a shaky breath, looking more human to Dean than ever. "Can we go slow? My last experience with sex didn't end very well."

"Shit." How could Dean have forgotten that. "Of course, Cas. I want _this_ ," he gestures between himself and the angel. "We've waited this long."

Castiel nods and slowly moves his face closer to Dean's. Dean meets him halfway. This kiss was nothing like where they were before. There is a slow burning simmering at the surface, but it holds all the promise for what can and will be.

Dean pulls them to lay back down, chuckling softly as Castiel lays his head on his chest. Dean wraps his arm around him as Cas hugs Dean's middle.

"Does this make you my Valentine?" Castiel asks softly after some time.

Dean's hand freezes on Castiel's arm where it had been tracing lazy patterns. "It's Valentine's isn't?" he asks.

Castiel moves his head to look up at Dean. "Yes."

"Well, if you're saying you wanna be mine, then yes."

Dean can feel the smile on Castiel's lips as the press against his neck just under his jaw. "I've always been yours."

A/N: This was written as a Valentine's present for SubtEX on Archive of our own. I mainly post to there, but you can follow my work there under the user PrettyBlueIz. Also you can find me on tumblr, bitching about my muse and swooning over Misha Collins LOL. my url is deadlykittenkay... come play with me!


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